


Play for Me

by Nanashi Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Ouran High School Host Club
Genre: Exhibitionism, First Kiss, Friendship, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-21
Updated: 2008-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Nanashi%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyouya steps into the space between them, fills and crosses it to lay his hand along Tamaki's face as he has seen Tamaki do with so many host club clients. He has a new appreciation for how much Tamaki gave away of himself every time; it's taking everything in Kyouya to give this much of himself in this moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Anime-verse. Set immediately following the final episode.

When Kyouya returns to the Third Music Room, he pauses outside the door. He doesn't hear sound coming from inside the room—but when he opens the door, sure enough, he finds Tamaki seated at the piano.

"Ah, Kyouya! I thought you left when the others did. Did you forget something?"

"No."

Tamaki swivels attentively on the piano bench as Kyouya sits on the sofa. Kyouya returns his smile but makes no move to speak. "The festival was a tremendous success, don't you think?" Tamaki offers conversationally.

Kyouya does not let his face or voice betray him. "The best yet."

"It was, wasn't it?" Tamaki's eyes light up. "I don't know how we will top it next year. Perhaps we can reenact the carriage ride as a performance—or participation! We shall have to write a script, and girls can sign up to be the hero, though we won't be able to let them actually drive the horses, obviously. They'll just have dummy reins and one of us will be doing the real driving. We'll all have to learn, of course. I think girls would like to be the knight sometimes, don't you?"

And sometimes, Kyouya muses, it's the boy who needs rescuing from the tower. But there is no evident self-consciousness in Tamaki as he begins to elaborate the plan with words and gestures, dismissing the problems he runs into with a flutter of his fingers as something to be worked out later, by Kyouya no doubt. "What do you think, Kyouya?" he pauses to ask eagerly.

"I think I would like to hear you play the piano."

Tamaki's smile flickers only minutely at the non-sequitur; the consummate host, he obliges Kyouya's whim immediately. "It would be my pleasure." He turns around to face the piano. Stretches his fingers, hovers above the keys, caresses them thoughtfully. And then he begins to play.

It is not the same piece Tamaki was performing for Kyouya's brothers the first time Kyouya heard him. He is not sure he has ever heard Tamaki play this particular piece, or at least not in this way. It is not the same piece, no, but it brings to Kyouya's eyes the same otherwise inexpressible emotion.

Tamaki's head remains bowed as the last notes drift off, and a silence falls around them. Kyouya does not know when Tamaki has ever been this quiet with him. Though Tamaki has graced him on occasion with wordless moments, there has always been an outward vibration coming from him; this time, there is a purity to the quiet, and Kyouya wonders if this is how Tamaki is when alone, if he is being privileged to see the Tamaki no other has.

"I think maybe it wouldn't have been so bad." Tamaki's words break into Kyouya's meditation, break the silence. He turns from the piano to look out the window. "She wasn't a bad person, Miss Tonnerre. It wouldn't have been so bad to go with her."

Kyouya feels a cold fisting in his small intestine. "Are you saying you wish we hadn't come for you?"

"Oh no, Kyouya—what you did, all of you, means the world to me." Tamaki breaks into that dazzling smile of his; Kyouya pushes his glasses up to block as much of the dazzle as he can. "Of course this is the most felicitous outcome!" There is a tremor in the wide curve of his lips. "It's just," and now the smile lapses, "I've been thinking about Éclair." 

Kyouya feels his brow arch in surprise, then almost laughs at himself for not anticipating this; this is, after all, Tamaki. 

Taking the raised brow as curiosity, Tamaki goes on, "Honestly, there was decency in her, for all that it must have looked like to everyone else. She let me go when I asked. She..." His smile flickers before coming up bravura. "She did what she did because she had to. She needed me, in her own way." Tamaki looks off; his voice is softer as he says, "It's nice to be needed." 

Despite his doubts, Kyouya does not question Tamaki. Generous as he can be in his estimations, Tamaki has rarely failed to judge character well. Kyouya does wonder, though, if Tamaki knows the difference between being needed and being used.

Tamaki looks back at him now. "I'm sorry." He smiles again as he rises. "I don't know what's come over me. Perhaps I've incurred a feverish chill from that water." Lifting his arm dramatically to his forehead, he feels for his temperature with the back of his hand. "I ought to take to bed before I'm overcome."

Kyouya gets to his feet as well. He pushes Tamaki's hand aside, feels the cool forehead himself. "You aren't ill," he asserts; "this is just who you are." His hand falls from Tamaki's face. "And I'm glad you are who you are right now. You are needed here."

"Yes." Tamaki smiles through the strangeness. "Haruhi told me everyone loves the Host Club. She said even _she_ loves it!" His smile is radiant with pride, not in himself but in the love. Tamaki fixes the radiance on Kyouya. "And you, Kyouya? Do you love it, too?"

"Yes," Kyouya admits. He does not allow the glow that suffuses Tamaki's face now to cloud him as he continues, "But I'm not talking about the Host Club." He can see in Tamaki's eyes that Tamaki isn't following, so Kyouya spells it out for the sweet idiot: "I need you."

Tamaki relaxes visibly. "Yes," he smiles with confidence, bringing his hand up, twisting at the wrist and opening in a flourish, "what would you do without my charms and vision?" His grin turns mischievous and sincere at once: "What would Mother do without Father?"

"That's not what I mean." Kyouya steps into the space between them, fills and crosses it to lay his hand along Tamaki's face as he has seen Tamaki do with so many host club clients. He has a new appreciation for how much Tamaki gave away of himself every time; it's taking everything in Kyouya to give this much of himself in this moment. "I need you, Tamaki."

Then Kyouya gives a little more: he takes Tamaki's mouth with his own, offers himself open to Tamaki. He inhales and exhales and shifts into a more perfect fit, guiding Tamaki with his lips and hand; when he slips his tongue between Tamaki's parted lips, Tamaki accepts him with a deep shivery sigh, hands clutching Kyouya's shoulders. Still holding Tamaki's face, Kyouya moves back enough to look into his eyes. "Could it be that this is your first kiss?"

"It's my first kiss with you," Tamaki says, flutterings in his breath and lashes, his smile soft and small but steady.

Kyouya kisses him again, his other hand cupping Tamaki's nape; and now Tamaki finds his mouth. The knot in Kyouya's belly is unraveling and warming, sending threads of heat through him. As the kiss goes on, Kyouya moves and Tamaki comes with him, until they find themselves on the sofa. They break the kiss only to settle lengthwise. Tamaki reaches up to remove Kyouya's glasses; they gaze into each other, and Kyouya wonders if Tamaki can see the emotion aroused by the sonata, lying still unspilled behind his eyes. Kyouya would not be surprised: Tamaki has always had the gift of seeing and seeing-through at the same time.

Then Tamaki arches towards him and Kyouya moves to take him in another kiss, lips and tongue and breath and hands and body. As they kiss like this, Kyouya realizes with a jolt and a hot thrill that Tamaki is hard against him. He shifts to wedge his thigh between Tamaki's, offering it to Tamaki to grind against. A deep, soft moan as Tamaki welcomes him, welcomes the friction—and then Tamaki is pushing against Kyouya's shoulders, dragging his mouth from Kyouya's to say, "No, please."

Kyouya sits back immediately, reaching for his glasses and putting them on one-handed with a push up the bridge of his nose. "Are you all right? Have I done something displeasing?"

"No," Tamaki assures him with another smile. "It's only." He swallows, his eyes sliding away briefly before coming back to Kyouya's. "I don't want my first orgasm to be like this."

"Your first with me, you mean."

Tamaki colors, but doesn't say anything. He blinks, but otherwise stubbornly holds the gaze.

Kyouya feels himself flushing, too. He sits back and Tamaki sits up beside him properly. "What about masturbation?" Kyouya finally asks him.

"Ah," Tamaki says with a dismissive back-flick of his open hand, "I don't do that."

"Never?" Kyouya asks, somewhat incredulously. Then again, this might explain a lot about that insane abundance of energy of which Tamaki is possessed.

"Oh, I tried! I just didn't enjoy it. It was physical sensation and nothing else, even with fantasizing. I suppose it was a rare failure of imagination," Tamaki says with a regret that Kyouya thinks is not entirely for show. "It would seem I need the 'something else'. I know I'm not impotent," he adds with a casualness that would be bizarre in any other conversation or from anyone else, "because I've had wet dreams, at least."

Although they haven't slipped, Kyouya pushes on the nose-piece of his glasses. Then he gets to his feet. He hears the rustle of Tamaki rising as well. "No, you stay there," Kyouya tells him. "I'm not leaving." As Tamaki sits again, Kyouya goes to lock the doors; the festival is over and the building should be empty, but Tamaki probably thought the same thing before Kyouya walked in on him.

When he returns to the sofa, Kyouya says, "Undo yourself. Take yourself out."

"Are you going to give me an orgasm?" Tamaki asks brightly.

"No." Before Tamaki's expression falls too far, Kyouya finishes, "You're going to give yourself one. You need to learn to take pleasure and enjoyment for yourself, by yourself."

"I told you I've tried it and it doesn't work for me," Tamaki reminds him patiently.

"But this time I'm here with you, to help you learn."

Tamaki's face blooms with a new smile. "Then I shall unclothe myself entirely, so that you may enjoy the aesthetics of my body to the full."

Kyouya can't help being a little impressed by the ease with which Tamaki has turned the pleasure focus around but he does not detect any manipulative intent, so he lets it go this time. Instead he agrees, and Tamaki undresses with an elegant simplicity of movements. Kyouya starts to direct him to lie on the sofa again but then thinks better of it and brings Tamaki back to the dressing room, standing him in front of the full-length mirror. "You are pleasing to look at," Kyouya tells him, standing behind with his hands on Tamaki's shoulders. "Look at yourself." But Tamaki only looks at Kyouya in the mirror, so Kyouya releases him and moves to the side, out of Tamaki's field of vision.

Tamaki switches his gaze to his own eyes in the mirror; then he lets his gaze slide down over his own body. As Kyouya watches Tamaki looking at himself, he wants to tell Tamaki again how truly beautiful he is, and not just in the ways the eye can see. But there will be time for that later. Now, Kyouya lets Tamaki discover his body. "Touch yourself," Kyouya encourages. Tamaki's eyes try to go to him but he can't see without turning his head; when he starts to look back over his shoulder, Kyouya reminds him, "Eyes on yourself." 

Tamaki faces forward again. His hand hovers uncertainly, then comes to rest on his chest, palm slightly curved, fingers splayed. He tilts his head at himself as he watches his hand travel down his torso. "Will you keep talking to me, Kyouya?"

It might defeat the purpose of the exercise but if he doesn't do it, Kyouya fears that the exercise itself might prove futile or even harmful to Tamaki if he fails again. And Kyouya will not have him harmed, not even by Tamaki's own idiocy. "If you like."

"Please." Tamaki lifes his eyes with a smile so Kyouya can see them, even if Tamaki can't see Kyouya.

At first Kyouya isn't sure what to say. Then he gets the idea of having Tamaki talk about himself, a subject for which Tamaki has demonstrated boundless and expert enthusiasm in the past. As Tamaki's hand wanders over his chest and belly and thighs, back up as far as his face and back down again, Kyouya questions him on sensations and his responses to them, until Tamaki is in a free-flowing, breathy narrative discourse on physical sensory experience. Then Kyouya takes the next step, and asks Tamaki what is happening in his mind as he touches himself.

Coloring but not pausing, Tamaki confesses that he is imagining the hand is Kyouya's. "Is that against the rules?"

Kyouya feels heat rising along his own spine. "No," he says. Then: "I want to touch your cock now."

With a glorious smile, Tamaki starts to turn again, but catches himself this time before Kyouya has to correct him. "Ah, I understand!" He takes a visible breath, shores up his smile, and reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock. Kyouya experiences another heat flare and thinks about putting his hand down his pants to soothe his own aching cock—but this is about Tamaki.

Tamaki hasn't moved and Kyouya realizes he's awaiting instructions. So Kyouya directs him in slow strokes; has him pull back his foreskin, has him caresses the exposed head with his thumb. Some of the flush leaves Tamaki's face as blood rushes to swell his cock. Stroke again, faster now, yes that's it, and palm your balls, give them a tug, faster on your cock and twist your wrist as you come up over the head, good, yes, yes…

Kyouya is breathing nearly as hard as Tamaki. He undoes his zipper, just to relieve the pressure, but does not move to relieve the ache. He focuses on Tamaki, the surprising softness of his moans as they interlace the quick, shallow breaths; the line and arch of his spine, the damp sheen developing on his skin, the glisten at his cockhead, the quickening glistening strokes along his length—

"Kyouya," Tamaki murmurs, pants, "Kyouya, may I kneel?"

"You may do anything you like, Tamaki." Gravity draws Kyouya's voice lower. "This is for your pleasure, for you."

With a deep sigh, Tamaki sinks to his knees, breath coming quicker now as it tries to make up for the depth of that sigh, as it tries to keep up with the hand on Tamaki's cock and the one on his balls. 

Then, still working his cock, Tamaki brings a hand up to his mouth. Kyouya is about to tell him not to muffle himself, when he realizes that Tamaki is not just mouthing the side of his hand but kissing it, kissing his palm too.

It's too much for Kyouya. He prays it is enough for Tamaki. "Come, Tamaki. Come over me, come in my hand."

Tamaki's breath is all unraveled but he's still holding himself together. "Can't figure it out," he manages breathlessly between kisses and strokes.

"Just let go," Kyouya coaxes, encourages, "just let yourself go."

"No, I—" Tamaki squeezes himself preventively hard at the base of his cock as he mouths his hand again, and Kyouya can't work out what he is up to now. "Can't figure out how to kiss you when I come."

This is supposed to be all Tamaki. Just Tamaki, discovering his body, discovering his pleasure. Those are the rules Kyouya set.

But Tamaki has never played inside the rules. And ever since Kyouya met Tamaki, neither has Kyouya.

So Kyouya moves behind him, into Tamaki's vision again. He bends, reaches around and strokes his hand up Tamaki's throat to his chin, tipping Tamaki up and back; Kyouya bends more, leaning over upside-down. "Come, Tamaki. Come for me now," he murmurs the command just before his lips touch Tamaki's, kissing Tamaki and breathing in his first orgasm.

Kyouya sinks to his knees with Tamaki. They don't try to speak as harshness leeches out of Tamaki's breathing, smoothing to his normal pattern. "Thank you." Tamaki turns to lean against him lightly. "Thank you, mon ami."

Kyouya shifts, nudging Tamaki under the chin for another kiss, this one slow and easy.

"May I pleasure you now?" The smile infuses Tamaki's whole face, shines from his eyes.

Kyouya absorbs the radiance, and reflects it back. "Yes," he says, curling his tongue around words strange and familiar, giving them a soft twist: "Mon amour."


End file.
